


happy people

by mnemememory



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen, I think I'm funny, Nott is a Good Parent, her adorable disaster children, who just wants what's best for her kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 12:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16137155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mnemememory/pseuds/mnemememory
Summary: They’re probably made up of 90% alcohol and 10% spite at this point. And good intentions. Spite and good intentions.(or; "it's what molly would have wanted")





	happy people

It begins – well.

Intentions had never really been a big part of the Mighty Nein before the series of unfortunate events that had begotten kidnapping and death, but that hadn’t stopped good deeds from squeezing themselves into the group’s shared vocabulary every now and again. Even as individuals, _doing the right_ _thing_ (though annoying) somehow was more appealing than just sitting back and watching the world burn. Depending on circumstances.

So here they are, sitting back and watching the world burn. Nott is, predictably, the one who says it:

“It’s what Molly would have wanted.”

Beau’s eye twitches, because she’s somehow become the most sensitive to mentions of Mollymauk Tealeaf, despite the group having all-round misgivings when it came to conversations on the dead. “What? No.”

Nott gestures to the – whatever it is that is unfurling behind them. It’s a mess, is what it is. A lot of blood. Some fire (somehow, even with Caleb snoozing peacefully in the back of the cart, _there always seems to be fire_ ). The screaming has mostly stopped, but that’s probably more because they’ve moved out of audial range than anything else.

Up front, Fjord surveys the open road glumly. “I just wanted to buy some food.”

“Don’t be silly,” Jester says, sprawling out next to him and patting the top of his head. He makes a valiant effort to dodge, but it’s no good, and he sullenly gives over to his fate with all the good grace that seventy-three hours without sleep can give. None of them are in a particularly pleasant mood, but Nott thinks that as soon as they get away from that broken excuse for a settlement, things will get back to normal.

(Burning down the world is sometimes the right thing to do, in the end).

(Funny, that).

…

…

Nott has the buttons on Fjord’s vest mixed in with the rest of her collection; she has Jester’s ribbons looping through the holes in her bag; she has three of Beau’s throwing stars tucked tight into the lining of her coat. Nott has a satchel of Deuce’s tea pressed up against a paper-thin flower, both hidden inside one of Caleb’s old books.

_Don’t steal from happy people_ , Molly said. Nott is trying.

…

…

The second time, Nott is less drunk, and also has had more sleep. It makes the reference simultaneously more and less tasteless, which seems on brand.

“C’mon,” she wheedles, tugging gently at the edge of Caleb’s jacket. She’s learned just the right amount of pressure to put on the fabric without making the movement overly insistent – too much, and she’s being pushy. Too little, and she doesn’t want it enough. Humans are weird, but Nott is determined to learn all of their strange idiosyncrasies, if only to be better able to dupe them. (Oh, and also to walk around without getting arrested, Nott wants that too). “It’ll be _fun_.”

“No,” Caleb says, with all the petulance of a teenager. Nott had thought she’d been lucky to skip out on that stage of developmental hell, but hey, at least she can cross _teenage rebellion_ off her list of life experiences. Children these days. No respect for their parents.

“Caleb,” Nott sighs. The rest of the group are ~~playing hooky~~ doing some very important serious business – that is, trying to find some freelance jobs so they don’t starve to death. Being _good people_ or whatever that’s supposed to mean isn’t really cheap. Nott hoards gold, but that doesn’t mean she can keep supporting these freeloaders forever. They need to come up with better investment strategies, and fast, or Nott is going to have to do it for them. Accounting hasn’t ever been one of her skills before, but travelling with these morons has helped her to refine down the important things in life. Like keeping track of party funds. And shooting straight while drunk. (Well, she’s had that last one for a while).

“Nott,” he sighs, right back at her. Nott makes a face up at him. They grow up so fast…

“It’s what Molly would have wanted,” she says.

Caleb’s eyebrow ticks up. “Molly would have wanted us to leave the rest of the group for an unknown period of time to go – gambling.”

Nott nods, vigorously. Jester’s been teaching her a few things she hadn’t heard of before (probably because they were _really illegal_ , but Jester didn’t know that, and Nott isn’t going to tell her _your mum is basically a genius when it comes to counting cards_ ). The city rests on a riverbed of gold – “if you want to make a fortune, come here” is the unofficial motto, tacked onto “to all the people in need of a disposable income; who have no future plans for success; who are desperate around to gamble everything you own in a single sitting”. Nott loves places like this, she really does.

Though she should probably stop saying that within hearing distance of the rest of the group, because they’re trying _so hard_ to make this “we’re definitely absolutely 100% the good guys now” thing stick. There have been…slips ups…but Nott is confident that with enough perseverance mixed into this powder keg (ha, get it?) of interpersonal family planning and parental issues, they can make the world explode in the best kind of way.

“Molly would have definitely wanted us to leave the rest of the group behind for _three guys_ , Caleb, that’s all I’m asking, to go gambling. I’m very sure that Molly would have been in support of this plan.”

Caleb is still giving Nott the sceptical eyebrows, but Nott is right (Nott is always right) and Caleb should just give up now and accept this. She’s never gambled with actual money before (Jester trades in chores, which is fun right up until Nott loses) so this is going to be a thrilling new experience. And also Caleb will be there, watching her back and keeping her safe from the undoubtedly fierce card sharks that will be waiting in the seedy taverns and grand casinos (there are a lot of grand casinos around here). Nott has heard enough stories about gambling – mostly from Jester, now that she thinks about it – to know that she will definitely need her son there, watching, to make sure that no one else cheats.

Caleb blows out a breath, long and low. He looks around the intersection, which is full of people shouting obnoxious insults at bystanders from behind foods carts, which seems a little counterproductive to the whole “selling of wares” thing, but hey, what does Nott know? Nothing, Nott knows nothing about making money, except that being drunk and killing things generally provides favourable results. In her experience, anyway.

“I suppose I cannot argue with that,” he says.

…

…

Caleb has to set fire to the casino, because of course. Of course he does. Nott will never be able to go anywhere ever again without having to set fire to something, she _just knows it_.

…

…

Third time, and it isn’t even Nott – which is progress! Nott thinks that it’s progress, anyway; on the downside, Beau starts a barfight, but that’s not uncommon, so Nott is calling this a ‘win’ in her books.

They’re drinking, heavily, because if there’s one thing this group knows how to do, it’s drink. They’re probably made up of 90% alcohol and 10% spite at this point. And good intentions. Spite and good intentions.

“I just –” Beau says, with the kind of slurred voice that only comes with mixing caffeine and liquor. “I just miss her. A lot.”

Fjord sits next to her and pats her on the back. It’s a rhythmic, absent kind of gesture, like he started because of a reason, some reason, there was definitely a reason, and how he can’t quite get his arm to stop moving. Nott predicts that he’ll be passing out soon, the amateur. She takes another swig of her flask (less quality, more burning familiarity) and leans into Caleb’s warm weight.

It’s good, being here, watching her family make a mess out of themselves. Painful, in a way, but good. Letting things fester under loose bandages is a good way to lose a limb (Nott knows, she’s seen it) (she’s done it) (there is nothing more terrifying than watching your body disintegrate in on itself). Here, talking and drinking and crying their eyes out (no judgement!), Nott is watching them sew open wounds back together.

Now all the needs is Yasha, and she’ll almost have the full set.

“I should message her!” Jester says, sipping at her milk and watching her drunken friends with mild fascination. She still hasn’t really gotten the hang of socialising with drunk people, for all she’s very good at following weird conversation tangents. “I can definitely message her – we haven’t seen Yasha in _ages_ , she’ll be wanting to know where we are –”

Beau blinks. Well, sort of – one of her eyelids goes down, but the other one is a little slower to follow. It’s a weird parody of a wink, is what it is. Nott snickers into her flask, but quietly, so she doesn’t draw attention to herself. She’s happy to let things fade into the background, for now. Look at them! Being so responsible, sorting out their relationship issues. Nott is so proud.

“Yeah,” Beau says, with the dawning light of drunk revelation. “ _Yeah_! You should message her. Say – say, er –”

“Tell her we miss her,” Fjord says. His arm is still patting Beau’s shoulder.

“And how to find us,” Deuce says.

Caleb _hmms_. “And that we may have another big job coming up, soon.”

“And that she should take care of herself,” Nott adds.

“Yeah – yeah,” Beau says. She clears her throat and scrapes her chair back a little, like she’s trying to get more room. It slams into the foot of a passing waitress, causing her to stumble forward and drop a rather large bowl of soup onto the head of a man on the next table over. “All of that. It’s what Molly would have wanted.”

Jester frowns. “That’s a lot, you guys.”

( _“WHO DID THAT?”_ the man roars, lurching drunkenly to his feet and swinging his meaty fists wide. The waitress ducks, and he brains the person of indeterminate gender sitting next to him.

“ _WHAT THE FUCK_!”)

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, we’ll write it down,” Beau says. She paws at the table in front of her, like she’s waiting for a piece of paper to spring forth from the lacquered wood. After a few seconds of disappointment, she turns to stare forlornly to where Fjord is still patting on her back. “I’ve got a pen somewhere in my bag,” she says.

(“ _WHAT DID YOU JUST CALL ME?”_

_“YOU HEARD ME, YOU –!”_ )

Jester smiles and takes out her sketchbook.

(They don’t flinch at the name. Nott is counting this as progress).

…

…

It sort of becomes a thing, after that.

Beau is a tipping point; she’s the leverage, especially when it comes to mentioning Molly. Without the threat of her flying into fits of rage of despair (none of them knows which one is worse), they relax their chokehold. Well, Nott relaxes her chokehold, which is good, because she’s never been much for staying silent.

“It’s what Molly would have wanted,” Caleb says, resigned, when they _somehow_ (she isn’t sure how, she will _never be sure how_ ) manage to bluff their way into the festival line-up. They are not musicians. They cannot _play instruments_. Nott has heard (at one point or another) all of them sing, and of the group, only Jester can do a passable imitation of pleasant. This is going to end in disaster.

(It does, of course, end in disaster).

“It’s what Molly would have wanted,” Fjord says, lightly teasing, when they hijack another boat ( _what is it with this group and boats_?) to make sail down the coast, human cargo ferried safely to the proper authorities. The group has taken a somewhat dim view of kidnapping, and hasn’t been overly thrilled to find the hold full of scared, dead-eyed people.

“It’s what Molly would have wanted,” Nott says, firmly, when she swipes a jelly doughnut from a rude man with a goatee.

(Don’t steal from happy people).

…

…

Yasha comes back to the group with all the drama and mystery they have come to expect from her; which is, she trips of Beau’s sprawled leg and then claims confusion at finding them here, in this tavern, which Jester had mentioned in her last message _three hours ago_. Yasha is fooling no one. Nott wonders why she even bothers anymore. What does she think they’re going to say? _No, go away_?

Nott wants to laugh. If she’s learned anything from this group of sanity-deficient people, it’s that family sticks together. She’s not letting any of her children go and ruin themselves without being there to help. Oh, well. Yasha will learn.

(Nott is never going to get the full set, but for this, for Caleb and Jester and Beau and Fjord and Deuce and Yasha, she will settle).

(It’s as much a concession to fate as she’s ever going to give).

Caleb is telling a story, face animated, arms spreading out in lively, sweeping gestures. He knocks his mug off of the table and onto the ground, the ale spilling onto the floorboards and all over poor Frumpkin’s head.

The group stare at the hissing, furious cat in a beat of silence. Then Caleb says, almost automatically, “It’s what Molly would have wanted.”

Yasha pauses at that, tankard halfway to her mouth.

Then she throws back her head and laughs.

…

…

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! Sorry for the week delay, life hasn't been great, and I've needed some time to process some of the curve-balls that are being thrown my way. This is just a quick, non-serious little dabble <3
> 
> (Nott is so much fun to write, you guys).
> 
> also oh hey come say hi on [tumblr](http://mnemememory.tumblr.com/)! I sometimes post drabbles that aren't long enough to post over here, haha. And I'm always looking for prompts :)


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